The 20 Step Guide to Wooing a Malady
by thebigbadbones
Summary: Hermione is a brainy university student who depends too much on books (you can guess what the title's about, seriously she purchased it herself). Fleur is a penniless coffee shop waitress who has dreams of becoming a ballet dancer. The former is confused awkward and clueless. The latter is doubtful reluctant and also very very clueless. Together they're, um, they're... yeah.
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Fleurmione

**Themes:** Comedy/Romance, Alternate Muggleverse, your obligatory coffee shop fanfic… and Hermione plays tabletop roleplaying games with the boys sometimes (they're all big dorks in this, yes even Fleur… you've all been warned)

**Summary:** Hermione is a brainy university student who depends too much on books (you can guess what the title's about, seriously she purchased it herself). Fleur is a penniless coffee shop waitress who has dreams of becoming a ballet dancer. The former is confused awkward and clueless. The latter is doubtful reluctant and also very very clueless. Together they're, um, they're….

yeah.

**A/N: **this is for auburnskies24, the person responsible for my new addiction ;)

* * *

**Part I**

_(In which the stage is set and the pieces are revealed)_

* * *

It happened in a library. Of all places.

Located right around the corner between Springston Ave. and Wicker St., the city's public library became her home away from home for many weeks now, her shared flat with Harry and Ron left almost empty for just as long. The boys had been too busy with their community and law training assessments, and whatever it was police trainees did with their time. The trio only ever saw each other in passing, or during workday evenings when they would spend their nights in pubs getting pissed beyond belief. Saturday afternoons saw them driving around and going to places. On Sundays, they just stayed at home; telling each other stories about their previous weeks, and catching up on old news.

The following days found Hermione spending four to five hours studying, surrounded by dusty books, reference papers, random magazines about spacecraft engineering, and textbooks as she saw the end of her second semester.

When she meant she wanted to do some 'extra studies', she certainly didn't mean anything like _this_.

To be fair, Hermione Granger wasn't surprised she met the love of her life surrounded by books.

In hindsight, she was more surprised this happened at all, being a bit of a recluse and a private person by nature. Hermione openly admitted her preference for seeking company and conversation with books more than with people. But at the end of the day, she couldn't care less. Hermione was at the top of her class, breezed through planetary sciences, cosmology, astrophysics, and all her other academic subjects. She had a goal to achieve, a dream to fulfill, and nothing was going to stop her. She was happy.

Hermione Granger grabbed her physics textbook nearby and lifted it up over her head, biting her inner cheeks until it stung. She winced, sinking lower into her seat when she felt an unpleasant flush of heat rise over her face.

Well, she used to be happy.

In the end, all it took was a brief glance from a beautiful girl, and Hermione's ever critical mind, built upon rules and logic and bitter cynicism, finally shook into a chaos befitting her nest of dark hair.

_Brilliant._

She'd been happier not knowing what she knew now. Knowing someone like her — bloody hell Hermione didn't even know her name — existed in this world. At this very moment.

This felt like how she imagined an interstellar galaxy would come into formation. When meteorites and planets race across the black void, rotating in axis around a new sun, creating unique new worlds in its midst. She'd never been one for poetry, but for some reason, Hermione felt it appropriate to parallel her feelings with the birth of a new solar system.

No. This beautiful creature was not a girl, Hermione thought to herself, looking up over the edge of her book, blurry figures of words and formulas disappearing from her sight. Wide brown eyes, full of shock and wonder, blinked in disbelief.

This girl was not a girl. She was a woman.

Hermione groaned to herself, letting her head fall on the page of her book with a smack.

"Obviously."

A woman — a flawless woman, bearing soft curves. The cut of her summer dress complimenting her lithe frame.

A woman with blonde hair glowing like a halo around her head, and pink lips which curled into a sweet smile as she walked past her, saying _'Your book is upside-down.'_ with a rich accent slightly betraying her French descent.

Her voice. God, her voice. She had a voice husky from the rain, rough and tired and the loveliest thing Hermione ever heard.

She was a woman who wore all light colors, bar the worn blue denim jacket protecting her from the breeze outside. The mismatch only made her look adorable, and Hermione doubted she could make any piece of clothing look less than spectacular. Her dress flowed over her knees as she walked further into the library, steps hesitant and blue eyes curious.

Seeing this woman walk past her work desk was probably the first time Hermione felt the need to initiate a conversation with a stranger. Winded pleasantries and trivial talk about the weather and all. The blonde could have read her the recipe for Lutefisk, and Hermione wouldn't even mind. It didn't matter what kind of conversation they got into, she thought, she just wanted to hear the woman speak for hours.

At some point, in the middle of her subconscious mooning and staring at the pretty foreigner, Hermione thought she must be going mad. Thinking such things. Illogical things. Feeling feelings of a confusing nature, disrupting the order she created in her world. Her thoughts were silenced at the sight of the woman's hips swinging as she walked… no — as she _glided _towards the business section of the library.

As if bewitched by a wicked trance, Hermione shoved her textbooks into her oversized bag, eyes not leaving the woman's walking figure. She shouldered the thick strap of her bag, and began to follow her around the library. Like a completely normal person.

A frumpy, sleep deprived, and grumpy-looking student, her breath sour from energy drinks, crackers, and coffee, trailing after a vision of flawlessness.

She hid behind every opposite bookshelf, tracing the woman's flat shoes clicking on the marble stone floors.

"Hello-" she whispered to herself, low enough that she hoped the other woman wouldn't hear, "I am Ms. Granger. I am here for personal reasons… no, no…"

That was too stiff. Maybe she could try to be a bit more spontaneous?

Hermione felt her lips stretch to a toothy smile; her cheeks puffing out, eyebrows lifting too high under her hairline and…

"… no."

Perhaps she could try to be a bit more casual? Jovial?

Do girls like jovial things? Her face fell. She should know, she was a girl, wasn't she?

She could be more seductive…? Hermione paused, then chuckled to herself when she thought about achieving something even remotely seductive.

The resident bookworm argued with herself until the woman left the library with one book in hand, leaving Hermione with a sinking feeling of despair and hopelessness and the formation of a gajillion 'what ifs'.

* * *

"You were stalking her?" Ron asked her a day later, after Hermione's encounter with the beautiful blonde woman. He caught her oddly solemn breakfast in one of their usual haunts, a diner just a couple of miles away from their flat, and was curious enough to ask if she had failed a test that week. Still rubbing the bruised area where Hermione had smacked him for his poor deduction, Ron smirked and continued: "Well if you want advice for girl problems, you know where to find a couple of blokes who know their way around women."

Hermione snorted.

"For your information, I was not stalking her." she said, "I was just…" the young university student's face faltered, crossing her arms in front of her chest, "I was just curious. That's why. I am a very curious person, you know."

"Curious?"

"Yes, curious."

"Curious about her dress?"

"No."

"… her shoes?"

"Ronald, stop being an idiot."

"Well, you were stalking her, 'Mione. Doesn't really leave enough room for interpretation, other than you might really really fancy her." Ron said, emphasizing his words until she gave him that all too familiar look. The one where she'd set her jaw, harden her gaze, and narrow her eyes, terrifying enough that it would make him slink out of view and head for the hills. Not this time, however, "Knowing you, you must have followed her home, didn't you?"

She was silent for a while, frowning as she stared into the table in front of them. One of the diner's waitresses randomly popped in and refilled their glasses of water with nary a word. Neither of them bothered to notice.

"Is that the reason why you came home late that night?" Ron gaped, "Oh, bloody hell, you didn't break in, did you?"

"Of course I didn't break into her home, are you mad?" she snapped, stabbing the ice in her glass of water with a straw. She ignored a couple of stares from the other Diner guests nearby, too furious and frustrated to care. Ron held out a hand and, with a series of awkward hand gestures, hissed at her to keep things down.

Hermione, however, didn't tell him the bit where she followed the blonde woman out of the library, and saw her enter a cozy little coffee shop nearby.

"It's just a little passing fancy, that's all."

… Or how she stood outside the coffee shop like a lost puppy, waiting ten minutes more until she realized how stupid she looked standing there, hunched forward like a crooked scholar thanks to her heavy bag of books, and promptly left in a panic.

"It was nothing serious, Ron. I don't understand why you're losing your mind over this. Fine, I admit, she's all I can ever think about lately, and -" Hermione's face fell, "Will you please stop looking at me like that?"

"'Nothing too serious' she says. 'All I could think about' she says." Ron scoffed, "Admit it, 'Mione, you're gay. End of story. Can we order for dessert now?"

Hermione's face paled.

Oh god, she was a _lesbian_.

Noticing her distress for once, Ron made a confused noise and lowered his head over the table, trying to catch her troubled expression.

"All right there, mate?"

She nodded, not really hearing what he was saying, and stared at the blurry image of her unfinished toast and eggs.

Sure, Hermione didn't mind same-sex couples. Love was love, feelings were feelings, and humans will always be chaotic creatures. But she did go through the rest of her life thinking she was, well…

She always thought she was straight.

She thought a nice young man might ask her out on a conventional date someday, and emotional feelings might spark and take form. Perhaps, later on, she might even spend the rest of her life with him in a conventional marriage after five or six years of conventional dating. Children would follow after two years of said conventional marriage. Maybe one, maybe two little ones… but only after she was thirty five. She would be too busy with her exceptional career to have conventional children, otherwise.

"Ron, I think I'm a lesbian."

Her chest ached. Those words certainly sounded foreign and strange on her tongue.

Ron raised an eyebrow, "I thought Harry's mister-captain-obvious in this group, am I wrong?" the young man relaxed into his chair, copying his friend and crossing his arms over his chest with an annoyed sigh, "You're making that face that says you're over-thinking things again. I'll just let you get on with it, then…. Are you eating those, by the way? Don't mind if I do."

And Ron was halfway through her mushroom and cheese omelette when Hermione made another startling discovery about herself.

Her future husband's face, for one, was nothing but an inconsistent blur in her mind. A formless, bland figure who liked leaving her alone whenever she wanted him to go away. The house with the white picket fences were inspired by nothing more than the modern media's depiction of what a perfect house should look like…

"Done over-thinking shite yet, 'Mione?"

Hermione glared, "I'm allowed to over-think things. I am a _scientist_."

"Right, right. Go on."

Hermione Granger had been too busy planning out her career with an almost maniacal enthusiasm, she never bothered to give details on these things. Personal things. She never thought twice. Never cared.

She never factored in a twenty-something French blonde woman with a gorgeous smile.

"Just ask her out." Ron said an hour later, after he finished all her food and ate his cold dessert. Sticking his arms through his coat sleeves, he placed a warm hand on her shoulder with a certain fondness only a brother would have towards an insecure sibling, "Ask her out and see where it goes. You'll never know, ey?"

Ah, but such things were easier said than done. Hermione watched him stand from his seat, dropping some change on the table next to their tab, before heading back out into the gray morning She didn't know anything about asking anyone out. What will she say? Was she supposed to wear her fanciest clothing? Read the woman poetry? No, that was stupid. She didn't know how to write poetry. Take her dancing? She didn't know how to dance. She didn't even know her name.

The young woman whimpered, pressing ink-stained palms over her red face.

"Bullocks."

Hermione Granger was in love with a woman, and she had no idea what to do.


	2. First Interlude

**Pairing:** Fleurmione

**Themes:** Comedy/Romance, maybe a bit of drama, Alternate Muggleverse, your obligatory coffee shop fanfic with lots of shenanigans

**Summary: **When one expects many things made from the promises of their future, their present sometimes fail them.

**A/N:** This is basically an interlude delving into Fleur Delacour's mind briefly, and will be ongoing, written after every chapter. Basically this is just an experiment which would hopefully allow me to entertain not only Hermione's pov, but also reveal Fleur's as well :D

* * *

**First Interlude**

_(In which the beautiful blonde woman's mind is delved into)_

* * *

She spent most of her childhood in the countryside, surrounded by green grass weaving through the breeze, and trees stretching out into the sun. She played on swings made of old tires, and swam in clear waters reflecting blue skies and white clouds.

She grew up running on dirt paths, playing with like-minded children, fishing with her papa, getting her dresses dirty, and afterwards being scolded by her mother.

"What a messy child I raised." her mother would sometimes say.

Sometimes her memory would linger on these special moments, whenever she felt sad about her future. Brief flashes, tinted with yellow and glowing white, played in her mind's eye. Coaxing a smile from her frown.

"I want to marry a prince someday, papa." she had told her father once. Once, when her fantasies were as close to realities, when wishes were tangible, and dreams were beautiful. Her father, lying on grass dotted with small flowers and clover, turned his head to meet her gaze, making sure not to disturb the little hands braiding a blade of grass in his balding head. There was a bit of a smile under his mustache, slowly growing wider as she continued to speak: "I would like a prince who can dance, is not smelly, and one who can sing."

"And what brought this along, dear heart?" her father asked, his tone light and teasing.

She remembered how he used to be young and carefree, and her smile would waver.

"Mama told me stories about princesses and princes last night." she replied to him then, grinning as she pinched her father's cheeks. She laughed when he made a funny face, "And then mama asked me what kind of prince I would like. I told her I haven't thought it yet."

"You sound like you already have?"

"I already know." she nodded firmly, messy blonde hair, loose from its tie, drifted around her shoulders in long, soft curls, "I want a prince who can dance, who is happy, and who has really good hair. Like yours."

"You want someone who is balding?"

"No!"

"Well, dear heart," her father said, "You have all the time in the world to decide who your non-smelly prince shall be. But if you want a prince who can dance, smell like flowers, and who is bald, who am I to stop you, yes?" he grinned, "Besides, at the end of the day, he will be the boy you will smooch and that is that."

"Gross, papa!"

And when her father laughed, it used to be loud and long.

* * *

"Excuse me! Excuse me, sorry. Very sorry. Please… out of the way, sir —"

Hermione shoved her way through the crowd of people, bumping shoulders against the dredges of the work force, teenagers with their ripped pants and hoodies, and other busy pedestrians balancing coffee trays as they hurried past.

She stumbled when a stranger barrelled towards her, and knocked her off balance, sending her careening forward with a yelp. As she fell, heavy books in her arms clattered next to her in an undignified mess. The young woman hissed, pulling herself up over her bruised knees, and quickly collected her books from the ground before they creased and dented under the feet of uncaring passersby.

"Watch where you're going! Bloody idiot." Hermione glared, realizing the person who tripped her was no where to be found, engulfed by a sea of bobbing heads.

Muttering a couple of choice words under her breath, Hermione began to stack her textbooks. Eyes, lined with dark shadows and bags underneath, glared at every title with enough intensity to set the books on fire. She hated how short she was with everything nowadays, but she couldn't help it.

Hermione Granger loved to delve deep into her studies. She really did. And if there was anything else Hermione was known for, it was her love for books, for learning, and a masochistic tendency of squeezing every bit of knowledge into her hungry mind like a greedy cerberus. On the downside, she's been running on energy drinks, coffee, biscuits and different kinds of soups for god knows how long already. Her new diet was not doing her gaunt reflection well, and Hermione doubted she looked like a ray of sunshine amongst these freshly-shaven, make-up wearing, neat and busy people.

"Hang in there, Granger." she whispered to herself, hugging her books close to her chest, her eyes devoid of cognition as she pushed on through.

After days of studying and passing her exams, trying to keep a certain blonde parasite from her mind as she studied for said exams, Hermione was miserable, tired, hungry, smelly, and all she wanted to do right now was return some of these books to the library, shove a mouthful of something substantial down her stomach, take a long hot shower, and sleep for an entire week.

And then she'll do something about her… feelings.

Hermione began to slow down. Her feet making a full stop when she felt the crowd's numbers thin. Besides her better judgment - the university student swallowed her hesitation, and turned her gaze towards the small coffee shop across the road.

Besides her better judgment - her heart began to beat until it became a horrible ache in her chest, and her cheeks began to feel warm that she was tempted to hide them. And would have, too, if it weren't for her busy arms filled with books. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the cursive red letters spelling:_'Marguerite'sCafe'_ — boldly written on the polished window display of the shop. The smell of strong caffeine and baked goods filled the air, and Hermione perked her nose up, taking a whiff of the delicacies which she could only taste at the back of her salivating mouth.

She snapped back into reality when her stomach rumbled. Loud enough to cause a couple of bemused looks in her direction.

Maybe she should visit…?

No.

"_No_." she told herself firmly.

She shook her head and forced one foot over the other, until she managed her earlier walking speed with extra gusto.

Hermione Granger didn't have time for this. She had to focus on her studies. For now at least.

_Maybe I can visit later… ?_

"Maybe." she argued.

She straightened her back, lifting her chin up high as she tried to look less like a self-deprived madwoman jogging down the sidewalk, and more like a woman on an important mission.

"Focus, Granger. I can do this."


End file.
